


Merry Christmas, Hermione

by itsjustsilver



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Cruelty, Dark, F/M, Forced Orgasm, Horror, Hurt No Comfort, Loss of Virginity, Rape/Non-con Elements, Sad, Sadism, Size Difference, Torture, Two Shot, jesus forgive me
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-14
Updated: 2018-12-25
Packaged: 2019-09-18 06:15:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,696
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16989588
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/itsjustsilver/pseuds/itsjustsilver
Summary: Hermione visits Godric's Hollow without Harry. Things don't go as planned. 2 shot. Non con. Dark.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is a 2 shot. It will contain non-con, don't like don't read. I do not own Harry Potter.

She didn’t think there would be anything there, not really. It was too famous, too watched. Too obvious. But she had to check anyway, tick that off her list.

She had debated awhile, watching Harry pore over that book, wondering whether to tell him her plans. He would want to follow, but for the wrong reasons. He was obsessed over Dumbledore, and what Bagshot had written.

But Hermione never had that sort of relationship with the Headmaster. It was not that she didn’t care. The information was simply irrelevant to their task.

Tonight, would be the night. It was her turn to forage for food in the nearby muggle village. They had long ago given up trying to transfigure leaves and berries into anything edible. Hermione disapparated neatly, leaving a despondent Harry obsessing over his snitch, the weight of the locket like an iron collar around him.

She didn’t go to the muggle village. She went west to Godric’s Hollow.

It was far enough that it took two separate apparitions, and she was drained and mildly off-balance by the time she arrived.

Her first regained sense was her hearing; the sweet, long forgotten sounds of choral singing reached her ears. She was in front of a church. Warm light spilled out from inside. The great door opened as a family ushered themselves in quietly, and the joyous notes of the hymn swelled outwards for a brief moment.

It was Christmas.

How could she have forgotten?

She stopped, entranced, and then shook her head clear. She had given herself twenty minutes, and she had to move, or Harry would be worried and go looking for her.

She cast several spells. Spells to reveal, spells designed to look for especially dark magic. She cast a wide net. Anything to tell her she would need to take a closer look.

Already she could tell she had made a mistake- this village was old, very old, and it had seen a lot of dark magic in its long history. The results of her spellwork was confusing. Many things were hidden. Many things were dark. Most of it seemed dormant, or dull. Something large lay hidden beyond the church.

She walked quickly, cloak trailing in the snow behind her, wand held loosely at her side.

As she passed into the village square, the memorial in its middle transformed itself into the likeness of a young family. Covered in white soft snow, mother, father, and infant regarded each other with love. The falling snow suffused the scene with quiet calm. The faint strains of Christmas music travelled through the thin air.

Hermione stared. Tears pricked her eyes. She shouldn’t have come without Harry. He would have wanted to have seen this. He deserved to.

She pulled the cloak off herself and moved forward to touch the stone baby. Her gloved fingers brushed its smooth face. She cleared the dusting of snow covering its cheeks and hair. This baby had neat hair. It had clearly been carved by someone who had never met the real Harry.

Hermione choked down a sob. If they lost this war there would be no one to remember them, there would be no babies, no-

No, she couldn’t allow herself to imagine that. Ron was gone, he had left them, had left _her_.

Hermione ran her glove over her wet face.

A shuffling sound came from her left. The shadow of a person fell on the dais of the memorial. Hermione turned, clutching cloak and wand, and almost eating her heart.

An old woman, wrapped up in thick shapeless clothing, hood half over her face, moved to stand next to Hermione.

“P-Professor Bagshot?” Hermione squeaked.

The old woman didn’t answer, only stared at Hermione with filmy rheumatic eyes, and then slowly moved her head around as if looking for someone else.

“I-I’m sorry, Harry’s not with me. I came alone.” She should really have brought Harry. And she was running out of time.

Professor Bagshot began to turn and shuffle away.

Hermione followed. “Professor, I don’t have time,” she said, breath puffing clouds into the cold air. She would come back with Harry. Tomorrow, maybe. He would be angry with her for having come first without him, but maybe she could make it up to him, if she had some information, something…

She cast a muffliato.

“Professor Bagshot, it’s urgent, and I’m sorry to ask so callously but do you have the Sword of Gryffindor?”

The old woman only gestured impatiently with one arm for Hermione to keep following her, and they walked quickly onwards. Hermione twisted her wand in her hands indecisively, wanting to go back and get Harry, but also, wanting to _know, now_ , what Professor Bagshot had to tell or show her.

They entered into a cottage.

The dank smell of decay and disuse assailed her nostrils. Professor Bagshot shooed her in and then closed the door after them. With the cold fresh air shut out, the smell was worse. Hermione moved slowly forwards into a dark sitting room overcrowded with books and old candle stubs.

The smell was truly unbearable. Hermione turned around.

“I’m sorry Professor, but I really should go-”

Professor Bagshot, expression unchanging, motioned with two hands for her to wait, and then shuffled back out of sight.

Hermione cursed and bit her lip. “Incendio,” she muttered, pointing at the fireplace, and a small flame burst into life, throwing small shadows against the bookshelves and stained walls.

Her eyes passed over the dusty picture frames and plates of stale food. It was as though no one had lived in this house for months. There was a hissing sound beyond the sitting room, like Professor Bagshot was making tea.

The twenty minutes she had given herself was almost up. If she couldn’t go back to Harry, she would have to call Harry to her. A patronus messenger would do.

She raised her wand to perform the spell and was struck by a thought. It wasn’t _as though_ no one had lived in this house for months. _No one_ had lived in this house for months.

Once again, eyes widening, she scanned quickly, taking everything in- the thick dust covered floor; the dried yellowed candle wax on the books; the rotting food; and that sour smell…

The hissing had stopped. Hermione turned around, wand raised, spell on her lips, heart pounding. Bathilda Bagshot was moving quickly into the room, gliding forward, face melting and breaking. A giant snake emerged from her disintegrating corpse.

It all happened so quickly.

Hermione screamed. The snake jabbed at her and she dove out of the way, still screaming. She threw a blasting curse at it. It was thrown into the air, thrashing madly, hissing all the while. Its tail hit her across the face and she was flung backwards and into the fireplace.

She shrieked. Her face stung, and her arm and back burned with a hot needle-sharp pain. She tried to extinguish the fire with a spell, but her wand was aflame. She rolled forward, rolling herself on the floor, breathing in the dense particles, her nose in the dust.

A gust of magical wind blew out all the flames. For one wild moment, Hermione thought that Harry had come, but she hadn’t sent that patronus messenger, had she?

A cold displeased voice _-not Harry-_ pierced her panic addled brain. “I thought I made it clear I was to be called only if Potter showed. What’s this here?”

There was loud hissing and then she was turned over, and looking up at the twin of Harry’s wand, pointed directly at her face.

“Ahh,” breathed Voldemort, “Hermione Granger, the famous mudblood.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rape in this chapter- if that upsets you, go no further.

Hermione panted up at him, her hair plastered over half her face, wand still firmly in hand. She wasn’t stupid enough to try using it just yet. Besides, it might be severely damaged, unusable. She didn’t know. “I’m not-”

“Save it. Where is Harry Potter?”

“He didn’t come,” said Hermione, glad for the first time since this cursed trip, that she hadn’t brought him after all. The tears leaked from her eyes and down her temples into her hair.

She didn’t want to show weakness in front of her enemy, but she wasn’t Harry. And she knew there was little chance she would make it out of this cottage alive.

“Don’t lie to me. I was told Potter never goes anywhere without his pet mudblood and blood traitor…”

“I’m not lying,” said Hermione, “I didn’t tell him I was coming here.”

‘We’ll see. Legilimens.”

She had barely a second to compose herself before he broke into her skull.

The theories of occlumency were well known to her. Unlike Harry, she did practice closing off her mind, emptying it, or building compartments around various subject matters.

But Voldemort was skilled, much more than she could ever have imagined or practiced for. And she realised as he broke into her mind, that building compartments only made it much easier for him to find things.

The structure by which she approached everything, and by which she had organised her thoughts was so detrimental to her defense it was like giving him the match by which to burn her house down.

Some things she had to give up as lost, and she ran ahead of him now, choosing selectively which to hide, while pushing down in front of him, entire compartments full of nonsense.

_Ron._

She pushed all her emotions at him. He withdrew from her mind, laughing.

She took the chance to glance surreptitiously at her wand hand. It was better than she had feared. Her wand was blackened but seemed whole. It could maybe still perform. She would have only one shot to find out.

When Voldemort had finished amusing himself at her expense, he trained his gaze on her again. He didn’t seem to care that she still held her wand. He must think her so beneath him, not even worth disarming.

“So the Holy Trinity is no more,” he mocked, showing sharpened teeth, and then, very quickly, his face closed. “Why are you looking for the Sword of Gryffindor?”

“The Sword of Gryffindor against Slytherin’s Heir,” said Hermione. “It’s the only weapon we could think of.”

“Liar,” he hissed. “Crucio.”

Pain beyond pain, and then it was over. He had made it quick. She trembled in the aftershocks.

“Potter has my locket. I saw. Did you think you could hide it from me?”

She hadn’t, really. But she’d hidden other things. Where Harry was… _What_ Harry was…

“You’ll bring me to Potter,” he said. “Or you die.”

Hermione laughed then, through her tears. “You think I hadn’t thought of this? I’ve planned for many contingencies. Anyone but me come near our camp, and the camp is relocated instantly. Randomly.” Her heart panged. _Ron. Where are you?_

He made a funny spitting sound. “You didn’t plan for this.”

“No, not this,” she agreed, keeping her hand steady on the wand and her body flat on the rotting floorboards. One wrong movement, one tiny twitch that he could interpret as aggressive, and she would be dead.

“I’m no use dead,” she said aloud.

Voldemort laughed again, cold and high.

“Well that’s not true. You could be very useful to me dead. I could put Nagini in your lovely little corpse, for example. Do you think that would bypass your security spells?”

Hermione paled.

Voldemort’s face contorted into something resembling a kindly smile. “You’re a clever girl, Hermione. Your Order is losing. Harry Potter will die. You know that. Why don’t you save yourself and join me?”

“I’m a muggle-born. That can’t go over well with your supporters,” Hermione replied, her mind not on the conversation at all. She was running through the security spells of their camp, double and triple-checking everything-

“My Death Eaters know better than to question me. Besides, everyone has a role to fulfill in the new society I will build. Even the muggle-borns.”

“Even Potter’s muggle-born?” -looking for kinks. Trying to figure out if Nagini dressed in her body could really infiltrate their spells. The problem was, many of the more complicated protective enchantments had been cast by her and would die with her-

“Especially Potter’s muggle-born,” he said softly.

Hermione looked up at him. She was not fooled. There was only one way this would end for her. She was going to die, and Harry would be left in the open. A friendless sitting duck. And with what little she had seen Voldemort capable of doing with dead bodies, if he was not warned, Harry would soon be joining her.

She nodded, crying softly, shoulders shaking, and wand tracing secret circles in the dust.

Voldemort’s smile widened. His dropped his aim a scant few inches.

“Don’t trust me, Harry!” she cried out, summoning the last of her happiness and pushing it out through her wand in a high arc.

Voldemort moved to intercept, but he was too late. An otter burst out of Hermione’s wand, joyful and ethereal, carrying her last message to Harry.

The wand was snatched from her. The otter gamboled out of reach then passed through one of the walls and out of the house in a blaze of blue light.

He fixed her with a murderous look. “How dare you…”

Hermione wished she could find it in herself not to care how she died, but she did care, and she was afraid.

Both their wands were in his hand. He twisted them slowly. “Crucio.”

Pain. Again. And again. He twisted, and she twisted. And if pain had a colour, Hermione thought it would be black.

When it was again over, and Hermione was still not dead, but twitching on the ground, unable to control her muscles, he loomed over her.

“I offered you a place in my world,” he spat. “Who were you to deny me?” He fumbled with her coat, slipping a hand under the black wool to tug at her jeans. His fingers pressed her skin.

It took Hermione a second to realise what was happening; she couldn’t quite believe it.

“N-n-no…” She jerked weakly away from his touch; still struggling to get her body under control.

He vanished her clothes. “Your role,” he hissed, laying himself fully on top of her naked body, “is _beneath_ me.”

Hermione shuddered and screamed hoarsely, swinging her arms up to claw at his face. He batted them away and pinned her wrists above her head with one hand, the other reaching down between them.

The blunt head of his cock butted against her dry entrance. Hermione, hysterical, tried to throw him off with a wandless spell- “Depulso!”

It had no effect. He began pushing himself firmly into her.

The multiple crucios had eroded her tolerance for pain, and her untried body was sensitive.

He was large, too large, going into a place that had never taken anything before, not even her own fingers. The ring of her body accepted him, gripping his cock tightly. The sudden sensation of being filled for the first time heightened the pleasure against the pain and she involuntarily arched backwards, lower body weak with feeling, walls fluttering.

He laughed, feeling her pulse around him. “Feels good, doesn’t it? A happy side effect of Crucio.”

Hermione gasped and whimpered in frightened consternation as he began to saw in and out of her, splitting her open. “R-ron,” she sobbed, eyes shut, and face turned away into the dust. “Ron, _Ronnn_ ….”

“Yes,” growled the monster rutting into her. His hips pinned her. “Call him, call him to save you. Call Potter too. I want them to come…” He laughed again and paused with his shaft fully buried inside her. “I want you to come. _Crucio_.”

The pain came, and then the pleasure, and Hermione’s eyes fluttered open as she spasmed uncontrollably around him once again. “Uhhh…. God…” Her neck thrashed, the guttural sounds were torn from her throat, and Voldemort groaned his own release above her.

At the culmination of that terrible moment, a flare of blue light burst brightly into existence in front of them, and the form of Ron Weasley, deluminator in hand, appeared in their midst.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading. Comments and kudos welcome. And, Merry Christmas everybody. I love you all.

**Author's Note:**

> Comments appreciated and welcome!


End file.
